


fall in love at the dairy queen

by got2ghost



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Punk, Childhood Friends, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Humor, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Multiple, POV Outsider, jock kuroo, punk kenma, they're in socal because i miss socal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28131459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/got2ghost/pseuds/got2ghost
Summary: kenma is in a punk band and he's in love with his jock boyfriendbased off of mia's incredible punk/jock au on twt which you can findhere,here, andhere
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 17
Kudos: 105
Collections: Kuroken Christmas Exchange 2020





	fall in love at the dairy queen

**Author's Note:**

> MERRRYYY XMAS MIA!!!!!! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! let me tell u when i got assigned to you i was so fucking pumped and then immediately got so worried bc i wanted you to like it so much because YOU DESERVE IT! BECAUSE I LOVE YOU SO MUCH! thank you for being on voice chat with me every day and for being my very first friend in haikyuu. i love getting 2 talk to you, listening 2 pretty boy every single day (and ribs) and teehee over literally everything. i just love you, sweet sweet girl. you're the best and i adore u and i'm so glad we are FRIENDS! 
> 
> thank you to [tae](https://twitter.com/bakchimin), as always for being the best beta. i cud not. do this without u. fjkewjlwjw and also thank u to my cheer squad, [mads](https://twitter.com/todxrxki) and [effie](https://twitter.com/bluenimi) who took a peek as i was waffling over this fic LMFAO

His feet pound against the track — heel toe, heel toe. He concentrates on his breathing and rounds the corner, picking up speed to pass the other runners in a burst when he sees his coach’s arm up, stopwatch at ready.

A blur moves past him and he curses as Kuroo’s back flashes in front of him, crossing the finish line before he can.

He slows down, chest rising and falling. 

“22.14! We’re getting there, Kuroo,” his coach boasts proudly, clapping Kuroo on the back. The manager hands him a sports bottle, offering him a _good job, Bautista,_ and he takes it gratefully, wiping the sweat dripping down the line of his nose. His heart’s still pounding in his chest and he sighs to himself, thinking about how he should have pushed that last stretch, even though his calves burn. 

“Good work everyone! We’re going to go out after this. Kuroo, are you in?” Davey asks.

“No, I have plans tonight. Maybe next practice,” Kuroo replies, laughing at the boos and jeers he gets in response. He raises his hands. “I know, I know. I’m a very popular guy and your cute little get-together’s gonna be boring without me.”

There’s more laughter and Kuroo gets shoved as he wipes his face on his shoulder. “You fucking suck, Tetsurou!” 

“No need to be jealous.” He grins.

“So what’s up? You got a date or something?”

“Ugh, that’s so unfair. This dude can’t be fast, tall, and have a girlfriend,” Kyle bemoans.

“I’ve got better than a girlfriend. I’ve got the love of my life.”

The rest of the team gags and boos him again and Kuroo grins, waving as he leaves the track with two fingers in the air.

Bautista follows the rest of them back to the locker rooms, a frown etched on his brow the whole time as he beats himself up for his poor time. Kyle talks as their sneakers squeak against the tile. “For real, though. You ever seen a pic of his girlfriend?”

“Boyfriend, pretty sure,” Alan says. 

“No way!”

“Don’t be a homophobe, Kyle,” Alan rolls his eyes.

“Dude, I’m not! My brother’s gay, what the fuck?”

Bautista tunes out the rest of their conversation, still upset at himself as he rests on the bench to unlace his shoes. Something clatters to the ground next to him and he pauses, reaching down to pick up a forgotten phone. The screen brightens and it’s just some Asian dude he doesn’t know in a candid shot. He has long hair and he’s super pale and skinny.

“Oh, hey, that’s mine,” he hears and lifts his head to see Kuroo, changed into casual clothes. “Good job out there today, Bautista.”

“Eh,” he replies with a grimace and hands him the phone. “You still beat me every time.” 

Kuroo grins, his eyes bright. “I’ve had a lot of practice.” 

Bautista’s lip twists, because he does too. He’s been in track and field since middle school. “What’s your secret?”

“A good playlist.”

“Yeah? Well, shit. Send me yours, I guess.” 

Kuroo’s grin grows wider, sharper. “Sure thing.” Later that night, he gets a Spotify link. He gets in bed, curious to hear what exactly motivates Kuroo to go so damn fast. Bautista hits play — what the fuck? 

He looks at the title.

 _20 Years of Cock_ by Pansy Division.

♪

It’s a boring day at work, as always. Eugena pops her bubblegum, checks her phone repeatedly, even though the three friends she does have are all at work too, so it’s been radio silence. It takes 2 hours before two punks come in like they stepped straight out of Harajuku to come to her empty bingsoo shop. 

“Welcome,” she says in a bored tone. Only one of them acknowledges her with an absent nod of his head.

“Hang on, I’m giving him directions. I don’t know how he gets so lost all the time,” the long-haired one says. He looks pretty cool, even though the piercing through the bridge of his nose looks scary. He looks up briefly to read the menu and his piercing yellow eyes are punctuated by heavy eyeliner and a smokey red eye. Eugena wonders if she could pull off a look like that, though she thinks her mom would cry if she came home in a mesh top and nipple piercings. Besides, she likes cute things and pink too much to wear this much black.

“We can set the gig up there, since my cousin owes me.”

“I don’t know if we’re ready yet.” 

“Kenma. You just don’t want to since your boyfriend’s gonna be there,” the other one rolls their eyes, their jet black hair falling in their face. Eugena’s eyes widen, her cheeks flushing, because it’s still exciting to see other gay people out in the world. She thinks about texting her crush, but remembers she’s on a trip to visit her grandparents.

“That’s not true,” Kenma scowls, pushing his bangs out of his face. “Kuro’s been to our practices plenty of times.” She wonders what Kuro looks like, pictures him with just as many bracelets and earrings. Maybe he’s into the heavy makeup too.

“Yeah, but you never sing for him.”

“Akira, can you order already?” 

Akira orders a taro bingsoo with extra mochi and she rings them up. The doorbell rings and a boy with a mohawk comes through, bringing in a waft of weed that makes her nose wrinkle. That must be him. She eyes him while she twists the bowl under the shaved ice machine. That must be Kuro. 

“Oi!”

“You’re late,” Kenma says. 

“Sorry, little prince. Traffic was hell.” He bows and Kenma rolls his eyes, but there’s a slight smile there. He stands shoulder to shoulder with Kenma and they look like a nice enough couple, even though they’re punks, she thinks while decorating the taro bowl with coconut flakes. She wonders if their music is like, super loud and angry or not. 

“We have a gig spot secured,” Akira says, crossing their arms.

“Oh hell yeah!” He crows, punching the air. 

“You’re being so loud, can you calm down? We’re in public,” Kenma grumbles and shoots her an apologetic look.

The doorbell jingles again and a tall boy with spiky hair steps through. He has a duffle bag over his shoulders, a pure white shirt, running shorts, and running shoes. She notes the UCLA hoodie tied around his waist, too. He’s handsome, athletic and tall, and would be Eugena’s type if she liked boys at all. She sulks, wondering if he’s going to bring in the next rush of customers, since he looks like he’s looking for someone.

“Sorry I’m late,” the jock says. The mohawk boy steps forward to order and the jock takes his spot, pressing way too close to Kenma. He slings a casual arm over his shoulder — HUH?

“It’s fine,” Kenma reaches up, cupping the back of his neck and standing on his tiptoes. The jock bends down to peck him on the lips.

Eugena almost drops the fully made bowl of bingsoo on the ground, but manages to catch it just in time, though a metal spoon clatters to the ground.

“Um, here you go,” she squeaks, sliding it to Akira, still disoriented. They just don’t look like they go together at all. She distractedly takes Mohawk’s order, who is apparently _not_ Kenma’s boyfriend.

“Kuro,” Kenma says, gesturing to the counter. “Can you order? I couldn’t decide.”

“Are you sure? I’ll get a strawberries and cream?” Kenma nods, smiling softly as Kuro plays with his red-tipped ends. 

“How was practice?”

“It was good. I improved my time by a couple of seconds.”

“That’s good,” Kenma murmurs. His voice is so soft, she has to strain to listen to it over the aggressive K-pop blaring over the entire store. 

“You’re being so cute right now. Did you miss me?” Kuro teases him, bending down again to kiss Kenma’s jaw. 

“No,” Kenma huffs embarrassedly, and shoves him away when he seems to remember he’s still in public. He pulls away from the circle of Kuro’s arms, but still keeps close, their hips bumping. Kuro steps forward, flashing her a polite smile.

“Hi, can I get a strawberries and cream, please? With extra condensed milk.”

♪

After they’re all full of bingsoo, Kenma splits off from his band-members to leave with his boyfriend. Akira waits at the bus stop headed for Little Tokyo so they can shop for manga and eat okonomiyaki by themself. 

Akira rolls their eyes. They wanted Kenma to come with them so they could talk more about the upcoming show, but it’s normal for Kenma to get carried away with Kuro.

Akira’s probably a jealous little bitch, but seeing them together makes them feel single as fuck.

They were together before Akira had even met Kenma at a Pwr Bttm show two years ago. They’d been surprised at first by how outwardly preppy Kenma’s jock boyfriend was, but Kuro’s pretty cool after getting to know him. He’s got the same music tastes as Kenma, likes all the same games and movies too, even if he looks like his family owns a yacht in Newport Beach. 

Akira twists their lips. They’re just so disgustingly in love, is all. 

♪

**Me**

Yo if u fuckin skip practice again im gonna kick ur ass

**Little Prince**

Whatever.

“C’MON! Again?” Tora throws his phone and punches the air a few times in aggravation. After knowing Kenma for as long as he has, he’s used to it, but damn he wants to smack the fuck outta Kenma sometimes.

They met in high school. Tora was an ADHD kid who wouldn’t stop obnoxiously tapping and banging his pencil on the desk until Kenma finally snapped at him. “Not everything is a drumset!” Kenma raised his voice, snapping the pencil out of Tora’s hand. Tora just fought back and they hated each other until Tora figured out they liked the same music. It’s always the music, man. 

Tora had stuck to Kenma like a splinter after that.

Tora was decent at the drums and his dad had a bunch of unused guitars and basses, and Tora — who was honestly lonely, because no one ever gave him a chance ‘cause of his volume control issues — invited Kenma over one day. 

He taught Kenma the bass first — it was easier to, just four strings and less scales. Kenma was surprisingly good at it since all he did was play rhythm games on his phone. It kind of pissed Tora off, actually, since it took him months to pick up what Kenma could get in just a few practice sessions, but he forgave him quickly once they really started syncing up together in a proper rhythm section. “We gotta get a band together, Kenma!” 

“I don’t know,” Kenma said in his annoyingly quiet voice that made Tora want to find a volume knob on the back of his neck. He plucked at his bass, not looking up at Tora. 

“What do you mean? We’re fucking badasses out here, but we need a serious guitarist and someone who can sing! We could be fucking famous! My dad could book us shit since he was a roadie in the 90s. He could pull some strings and book us a studio too.”

“So you think we’ll get famous out of pure nepotism?”

“Huh? I don’t know what that means, but I think you’re probably being a bitch. I’m just saying, we could try it out, you know? And then we gotta pick a band name too—”

“—think you’re skipping steps.” Kenma interrupted, his brows pinching together. “I don’t want to be famous.”

“Who doesn’t want to be famous? We could be on stage and I could get so many babes. Do you know how many women my dad hooked up with when he was still doing tours? And he was just a roadie? Band name — how about… GUTS?”

“No,” Kenma said firmly. He shook his head, letting his bangs cover half of his face. 

“No what?”

“No to all of it. But especially that name.” Tora glared at him.

It only two two weeks for Kenma to change his mind. 

“Kuro thinks we should. I mean — start a band.”

“Oh, we’re just going to do it now because _your boyfriend_ says? That’s so fucking lame,” Tora huffed.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Kenma’s cheeks flared red and he tugged at his bangs in agitation. Tora had never met Kuro, but he was pretty sure just from the way Kenma talked about him, that they were definitely dating. “He just… thinks it’d be a good challenge and it’s not like it’d be that different than what we’re doing right now. I doubt we’ll get famous, so it’ll be okay.” 

Still sounded like it was all his boyfriend’s idea, but Tora wasn’t going to tell him that. 

They’ve been in a band together for almost three years now, (unofficially one year without Akira) and Tora still thinks they really have a chance, even if they haven’t come up with a band name yet.

**Little Prince**

I’ll be there. Kuro is busy anyway.

Tora rolls his eyes.

♪

Kenma falls asleep in the passenger seat as they cruise along Olympic, in stop and go traffic toward Santa Monica. Kuroo keeps his hand on his thigh and hums (badly) to himself. He wakes up when Kuroo parks and pats him awake. He stretches up, yawning wide like a cat, his fingers curling up to meet the roof. 

“Is it okay if I smoke first?” It’s a bad habit he’d picked up and now he can’t quit no matter how he tries. Kuroo shakes his head and Kenma smiles at him, leaning over the console to peck him on the lips before he gets out of the car. He pulls out his Marlboro pack, lighting up, his back against the door.

The first time he’d smoked, he was 15. That year, Kuroo’s family had abruptly moved them to the Bay area and left Kenma abandoned. Instead of talking to his mom about how fucking sad it made him, he just played his music louder, made his clothes darker, bleached his hair and kept it brassy and ugly. He kept to himself at school and refused to make friends, because no one was going to know him the way that Kuroo knew him. 

Of course there was FaceTime, but it wasn’t the same as Kuroo’s warm voice in his ear, or Kuroo stealing his pillows, or Kuroo coming over and dragging him outside for boba, even though Kenma just wanted to stay inside and play video games. No one to drag him back from under the bridge. 

Kenma would go there on his own, lay in the dirt while thinking about how it was unfair that the universe was keeping him and his best friend apart. He snagged a half smoked cigarette from his mom’s pack and tried it. It burned in a bad way and made his mouth taste like ash. In a way, it was satisfying, burning away his tastebuds that had never even gotten a chance to taste Kuroo. He’d been too chickenshit to kiss him, even though he could tell that Kuroo wanted him to the night he left. 

He was a very dramatic fifteen year old. But now the habit’s stuck, even though Kuroo came back a year later. He thinks about how scared he’d been that Kuroo might hate it when he came to visit over Christmas Break. Things were already so different between them, the tension of them becoming more and more _something_ crept up on them. Kuroo was busier since he’d officially started track and field at his new school, and Kenma had calluses on his fingers from practicing the bass every day.

The first thing that Kuroo said when he saw him was: 

“Your hair.”

And then:

“You smell like cigarettes.”

“Do you hate it?” Kenma mumbled in question, unable to look up at Kuroo through the brassy curtain of his bangs. The bleached ends had grown out, so 3 inches of his dark roots were showing, but Kenma hadn’t intended on doing anything more with it. The bleach made his scalp burn the first time when he did it himself.

“No, I don’t. I mean the cigarette smoke is — it’s not good for you, but I don’t hate the smell. You do look like… a pudding cup.” Kenma scowled at him and Kuroo just threw his head back and laughed. Kenma had missed his laugh so much, his heart squeezing over the sound.

“I can dye it for you? I think it’d look really cool if it was red.”

They got hair dye at a Sally’s, the cheapest one their combined dollars could get them. 

Kenma put on a playlist but Kuroo insisted they listen to Limp Wrist, fast and angry, and Kenma smiled to himself because Limp Wrist had been on the last playlist he’d made for Kuroo for his car ride up to the Bay. 

They got dye everywhere, ruined his clothes and Kuroo’s and left the bathroom more like a murder scene. He had to throw away pillow case after pillow case until the dye stopped bleeding over. 

But Kuroo was right, the red looked good. 

Santa Monica is breezy and they walk back hand in hand to Kuroo’s apartment building that Kenma stays at more often than not. Most of Kenma’s classes are online, even though he’s technically enrolled in USC. 

“Do you want me to redye your hair?” Kuroo asks him after taking a bite of his crepe. There are crumbs still at the corner of his mouth and Kenma reaches over to wipe them away with his thumb, then smirks at him when Kuroo stares too hard. Kenma pinches his cheek. 

“Sure.”

They’ve gotten it down to a system now. Kenma digs out the already destroyed towels he had copped at a Goodwill for 2 dollars. He puts on an old Bikini Kill shirt as Kuroo puts on gloves and preps the dye in a bowl with the little brush. Kenma haphazardly clips his hair up in sections and scrolls through Twitter as Kuroo hums along to their usual playlist. Kuroo’s gentle, careful about applying it. The strokes are calming and Kenma’s lulled into almost a meditative state. 

In between the application and the wash out, Kenma crawls into Kuroo’s lap and plays a game on his phone. 

“So,” he starts. “I have a show next Friday at the Black Box.” He tries to be casual about it. Kenma thinks about the lyrics he’s scrawled on napkins and receipts, all tucked away in an old school notebook.

“What? That’s great, baby! I should go camp out there right now,” Kuroo says, pretending to get up from the bed, jostling Kenma in his lap. He resettles and Kenma rolls his eyes, then turns his forehead into Kuroo’s shoulder.

“I was sort of maybe… don’t go,” Kenma mumbles.

“Huh?”

“I don’t think we’ll be ready. It’s really rough, the 2 songs we’re working on. Right now, Akira’s so busy with work that we barely have time to practice.”

“Kenma, you’re crazy if you expect me, your boyfriend and number one fan — Kenma STAN, if you will—”

“—think you’re more of a simp, actually, but—”

“—I’m going to your show. You could play _Twinkle Twinkle Little Star_ and I know it’s gonna be the best shit I’m ever going to hear.”

Kenma laughs and then groans, covering his face. 

“Besides, isn’t punk supposed to be imperfect?" 

“I just want to be good.”

“You’re going to be _great_. Come on, it’s time to wash your hair out.”

The dye, lime green this time, turns out perfect.

♪

**Band Practice Group 🥁**

**Tora**

we need 2 come up w a band name b4 show

**Kenma**

I guess.

**Akira**

i still say Nihonji is cool

**Kenma**

I don’t think that’s bad. It’s not as bad as whatever stupid shit Tora comes up with.

**Tora**

my ideas r not stupid. 

my num 1 choice is still GUTS!

or maybe 

INSTESTINE

  


**Akira**

that’s the same word and it’s spelled intestine

**Kenma**

I have one, maybe.

**Kenma**

Fury Curry.

**Akira**

oh i get it

  


**Tora**

idgi

**Kenma**

Like. FLCL. Fooly Cooly...Fury Curry. 

**Akira**

that’s p good

**Tora**

it makes me hungry

which makes me think of my stomach

which makes me think of

GUTS!

**Kenma**

K.

**Akira**

Tora ur such a fucking idiot

♪

“Congratulations. You’re really fast,” Kenma deadpans, his mouth curled up in a smirk as he comes down from the bleachers. Kuroo holds out his hand to help him step down, even though he’s sure that Kenma won’t eat it wearing those steel-toed boots. He looks cold even though it’s a mild, California day. Kuroo lets go of his hand to re-center the leather jacket sliding off of birdbone shoulders. 

Kenma’s eyes are on the ground as he tucks his cigarette behind his ear, gaze traveling up lazily and settling on Kuroo’s shorts. 

“You’re staring at my thighs again,” Kuroo says, raising a brow.

“Well, they are right there.”

“Stop objectifying me.”

“Blame the people who made compression shorts.” Kenma smiles again, his eyes glittering as he meets Kuroo’s gaze and tippy-toes to kiss him on the cheek. Kuroo wipes his face on his shirt and Kenma’s smile goes sharper, his eyes dipping down to his navel. Kuroo’s stomach tightens and travels down to his groan. 

“There you go again,” he chuckles, pulling down his shirt.

Kenma pouts at him. “Maybe stop having a body like that.”

“Objectification!”

“It’s the only reason why I’m dating you.” Kenma squeezes his hand as they head toward Kuroo’s car.

“I knew it,” Kuroo says with a theatrical sigh. Kenma giggles under his breath. “Are you nervous about the show tonight?” 

Kenma shrugs, lifting Kuroo’s arm and settling it over his shoulders like his own personal blanket. He can tell that Kenma’s just trying to brush it off, but his frown says it all. It’s frown number 34 — slight dip in the corners of his mouth, gaze far away and thinking about the future, and eyebrows furrowed in at 45 degree angles — which means he’s very worried and will probably get acid reflux later tonight, so nothing sour for him.

“You’ll be great,” Kuroo encourages softly, wrapping his other arm around Kenma and pulling him closer to his chest. 

“You stink,” is all Kenma says back, burrowing his face deeper into Kuroo’s sweaty collarbone.

♪

It’s loud and cramped in the venue that’s barely a venue and more like a dive bar with surround sound. Kenma’s still visibly nervous, even though the crowd is less than a dozen people — mostly bar patrons waiting for their friends to start the night. Kuroo feels a little out of place. He’d put on his darkest jacket and darkest jeans but still feels too clean cut to order a drink from the bar. 

Kenma is two shots of vodka in, though it’s seemingly done nothing for his nerves, eyes wide and lips thin as he grips Kuroo’s arms a smidge too tightly. 

“You’re going to do great,” Kuroo reassures him, sweeping back his long hair to kiss his cheek, dusted in this lavender-ish highlighter Akira must have painted on him. He looks gorgeous, smokey eyes making his golden eyes pop, even in the dim lighting. Kenma softens against him a little. Kuroo’s secretly glad that he still gets to do this, even if Kenma’s shyness melted away as he got more and more into the punk scene, caring less how people viewed him. He’s glad that it’s made him more comfortable in his skin, enough to fill a room and turn heads for the right reasons.

Akira sidles up next to Kenma, tugging on his arm impatiently, their lips twisted in a pout. “Come on, we need to warm up.”

“Go gettum, tiger,” Kuroo says with a cheesy grin, knocking his knuckles in a fake jab to his jaw. Kenma rolls his eyes but smiles, ever so slightly before letting himself be tugged toward the stage.

The harsh flood lights shine on Kenma, his dark clothes on his pale skin even starker than usual. He clutches at his bass and Akira plucks at their guitar a few times. Kenma grips the mic and licks his lips. “Hi. We’re Fury Curry. This is our first show, so I hope you like it. And if you don’t, then oh well,” Kenma says, his soft voice purposefully monotone. He’s so fucking nervous. Kuroo bites his own lower lip, half out of shared anxiousness and half because if he doesn’t, he’ll have the biggest damn grin on his face.

“This song is about my jock boyfriend who’s here tonight,” Kenma says, this time, smiling in amusement. “One, two, one two three.”

♪

“Kenma, is this your _sister_?” Kuroo’s voice cuts through the house and Yuuko cracks a smile, bending back to peek through the doorway. “It has to be! She looks no older than 30!”

“Tetsurou!” she greets warmly, pleased at seeing her future son-in-law (even though Kenma keeps insisting that they haven’t even talked about it yet. She just knows it will happen.) He pulls her into a hug and she laughs, shaking her head at how absolutely enormous he’s gotten over the years. She remembers when he went from a slightly chubby 12 year old to a string bean by 14, and just didn’t stop growing after that. She tippy-toes to ruffle his messy hair.

Kenma trails in after him, eyes on his phone. “Please stop flirting with my mom.” 

“Good to see you haven’t forgotten about me like my own son has,” she teases, coming over to bump her hip against Kenma’s. He finally looks down at her and she cups his face, giving him an affectionate kiss on his cheek that makes him grumble. 

They eat takeout and Kenma goes upstairs to wash up. Kuroo offers to wash the dishes and clean up the kitchen for her and Yuuko laughs when he takes a plate out of her hands. “You know you don’t have to impress me, young man. You already have my full express permission to marry Kenma whenever you want.” 

Kuroo’s face turns an interesting shade of pink, she notes, smirking to herself. She pats him on the arm.

“Just let me know when you want to go jewelry shopping. I know what he likes.”

♪

“So, institution of marriage,” Kuroo starts. “Thoughts?”

Kenma doesn’t look away from the mirror, wiping at his eye in circular motions, but Kuroo notes the slight tension in his jaw and reminds himself he should really get Kenma a nightguard because his dentist was worried about his grinding. 

“One of the oldest in the world,” Kenma replies, short and sweet. His eyes glance over to Kuroo, eyebrow raised. So it’s a no, then. Kuroo sighs to himself and takes the opportunity of swigging and swishing mouthwash to hide his disappointment. He knew that the chance of Kenma being into the idea of chaining themselves together in archaic rituals to uphold the patriarchy were slim to none, but still. He’d kind of wanted to. The thought of having _Kozume_ emblazoned on his back as he runs his way to nationals is a far away dream. He sighs mentally again, louder this time, and then spits into the sink. 

He’ll have to text Yuuko about not worrying about jewelry shopping, unless it’s another face or body piercing. 

They crawl into bed, Kuroo settling in first, and then Kenma, dragging in his cigarette smell. Kuroo widens his wingspan for Kenma to choose exactly which part of Kuroo’s left arm will go numb tonight. He seems to go for Kuroo’s upper arm tonight and turns, hugging Kuroo’s waist. Kuroo basks in his affection, settling his other arm over Kenma’s waist and noses at the juncture between his earlobe and his jawline, pressing a light kiss there. 

“I love you,” Kuroo says, closing his eyes. 

“Love you too,” Kenma mumbles and Kuroo smiles, warmth spreading from his chest. It won’t be bad if they never marry. Maybe it’ll just be bad for tax purposes and if one of them gets sick — he frowns a little. He’ll still get this: Kenma’s breath puffing against his shoulder and his arm already going tingly from the weight of Kenma’s head. He wouldn’t trade it for the world. Sleep starts to drag him down, Kenma’s breath even and quiet. 

“If you asked, I probably wouldn’t say no.” 

“Oh. Won’t sign a prenup, though,” Kuroo responds before falling asleep for good.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to meeeeee [on tweeter](https://twitter.com/got2ghost)


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